259
by The Pyrat
Summary: In Wammy's House, Room 259 has been kept locked for years, its past kept secret. Mello, sick of having things kept from him, decides to do some investigating of his own into 259's mysterious past. In the process, he uncovers more than he bargained for...
1. Chapter 1

_Well, I recently finished reading the Death Note novel, Another Note: The LA BB Serial Murder Cases, and I watched the movie 1408. Thus was I inspired to write this._

_Mello POV, which is amazingly fun to write. Also, my first time writing about Near as a functioning character, rather than just having him mentioned. He's really tricky for me, and I'm still trying to find a comfortable, fitting way to write about him. I'll give more author's notes at the end of some of the following chapters as well._

_I appreciate reviews/critiques. They make me happy_

_Oh yes, the characters aren't mine. Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata created them, and I just write about them._

…

In the eastern wing of the House, in the northeast corridor on the left hand side, there is a room marked 259. It can be recognized especially by the small "A" written above the door handle in thick blue ink. It must be noted by all staff that this room is to remain locked, and is not to be used or entered for any reason. It is unfit for use, and this is what all children must be told, should they ask….

…

I hate having information kept from me. Especially when such information is just _begging _to be discovered, and it is separated from me only by the stupidity of those who already know it, but refuse to tell. Yes, _stupidity_. I don't care what's said about it, respecting one's elders is near impossible when they are so wretchedly foolish! They dare to tell me, me of all people, the 2nd in the House, that I am not being told something "for my own good"? As if there remained anything in the world that I hadn't already heard in some form, as if there remained anything to "taint" me. It made me just ache to tell that old man Roger some sinful little thing I knew, shock him really well, but I kept my mouth shout.

Sort of.

Well…not exactly.

I suppose I didn't shock him with what I _did _say, but it certainly did irritate him. Which was why I was sitting here on a chair in a corner. A painfully humiliating punishment Roger. I'm sure you think you're so clever and authoritative for inflicting it on me, don't you? You probably think you're teaching me a lesson. As if you could possibly do such a thing! Just because I asked about the stupid room, 259, the "A" Room…

I was beginning to wear down. I'd worked myself up into a fine huff about this, and I had to admit, I was beginning to feel a bit tired. I was not ready to submit though, certainly not. If he expected me to apologize for swearing at him I'd just have to sit here until I rotted. But he knew me better than that. He'd let me go once I quieted down. Which I would do on my own time, thank you very much.

Still, I despised getting tired, because then my mind started softening and those nasty little "I deserve it" thoughts began to creep in. Such thoughts as "I shouldn't have kept pestering", "he told me not to ask again the last time", and, the very worst, "it wasn't polite to talk that way to him". I despised it so much, it got me angry again, and I gave the chair a good kick with my heel, then glanced down at my watch in frustration. I'd already been here forty-five minutes. And…ooooh, it would be dinner soon! Which meant everyone in the house would pass this room on their way to the dining hall. Roger had to have done this on purpose. Putting me here just to embarrass me! Then again, maybe he wasn't smart enough to think that far ahead.

Still, this was a wretched predicament. Matt would tease me for days about this. Near…he would _pretend _he didn't care, but he would love seeing this, just because he never did anything wrong and was oh-so-perfect genius number 1 Near. The annoying, bratty little twit.

I exhaled loudly. Five minutes until the meal bell would ring, the dining room doors would open, and everyone one would come rushing down. I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

"Roger!" I called, immediately wishing to take it back. My voice sounded terribly loud as it rang out in the quiet little room. He would triumph in this! I could just imagine his thoughts already. He would think he'd done so well, think he'd put me in my place. I gripped the chair, as if trying to dig my nails into it, and I heard soft footsteps enter the room behind me.

"Do you have something to say, Mello?" came the familiar voice of the House's guardian, Roger Ruvie. I grit my teeth, suppressing a growl.

"I'd like to get up now." I didn't want to say it, I didn't want to say it… "Please." I choked the word out and nearly gagged on it.

"Ah. Then I assume you are prepared to conduct yourself properly and politly from now on?"

I really needed to work on getting my temper to behave a bit better, as it was starting to flair viciously. I had to give myself a few moments to get it a bit more controlled before I answered. "Yes, I'll be doing that."

"Then you are fully prepared to apologize?"

I must have looked as if I was having a fit. I curled over and gripped my legs, my yelling muffled against my thighs. I sat up again quickly, my back rigidly straight. "Yes, I apologize. I'll behave. I'll be polite."

He might as well have stabbed me.

…

Roger let me go, but not before I had to sit and listen to a lecture, though it was blessedly short. I managed to dash out of the room right as the flood of hungry children came down the hall, and within seconds I managed to blend into the crowd. A close call indeed.

It was not that I didn't want them knowing I'd gotten in trouble. They all already knew I was no angel. But there was a delicate hierarchy here in Wammy's House, and I had to make sure my place was maintained. It was by no means enough to be just "The 2nd". I needed something that set me apart, something that built a very clear, _very _thick wall between Near and I. That something was my personality. I was the bold one, the trouble-maker. The one who wouldn't apologize.

Well…as for the latter…at least I _had _been that.

Near had his wretched policy of "If you do wrong, just say sorry". I despised that. I despised it as much as despised him. Well he could say sorry all he wanted, but I certainly would not. I'd had a good record of it too, until Roger found out how much I hated such humiliating and juvenile punishments as being put in a corner. Banished to my room for a few hours was even better than being put out on public display. Oh it burned me right through, and I squirmed all over just thinking about it.

But it was over. Time to get my mind off it, and stop letting it ruin my appetite. I took my seat at the long dining table and began filling my plate. I needed chocolate, but Roger had taken away the bar I'd had earlier. Just heaping insult to injury.

"Hey Mel," Matt appeared beside me suddenly enough to make me tense up, if only briefly. Still, I couldn't help but grin. He had such a big smile spread across his face I couldn't help it. "Where've you been for so long? I thought you were going to ask Roger about…" he lowered his voice, "about…you know…_The Room_."

He was wise to keep quiet. Room 259 was an endless source of gossip among the children. It was the one thing, other than L, that was a true Wammy's House mystery. One word about "The Room", and everyone would be talking, throwing around their "I heard's " and "it's been said's".

"So did you ask?" he said, continuing to pester even as he stuffed his mouth with food.

"Still nothing Matt," I said. "The old man isn't cracking."

"Awww," he frowned. "I thought you had him this time."

I put a forkful of potatoes in my mouth, and as I did I caught sight of a brief glimpse of white entering the room. I swallowed hard. Near. He was always the last one into the dining hall, so usually he ended up sitting on an end of the table, but somehow the seating had worked out differently today. Friends were grouped together, loners were scattered between, and the very unfortunate thing was the only real open space was next to me. My heart pounded, and my stomach threatened to revolt against the food I'd just put in it. I would not sit next to him. I wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't!

"Linda!" I whispered loudly to the girl sitting down the long bench from me. She glanced at me with a slight frown. I'd interrupted her conversation. "Move down!"

She rolled her eyes and turned away, and I nearly leapt up and dragged her down the bench. If only they'd all just move down a bit…

But no, too late. Here he came, looking as dull and lifeless as ever, a little white-haired freak buried in too-big white pajamas. A silent ghost moving among the laughing children. I turned back to my plate quickly, trying to ignore him, and he sat down beside me without a word.

"That seat is taken," I said quickly. My words got Matt's attention, and he glanced up to watch. Near didn't even give me such a glance.

"Mello," he said, his voice as dull as his eyes. "This seat wasn't taken until I sat here."

"Yes it was!" my voice shot up a few notes. "It was taken!"

"Is there a guest in the House today? All the residents are already seated."

I could feel my face growing hot, and somewhere in my mind I acknowledged that Matt had put his hand on my shoulder, as if to hold me back. "Oh are they? And how would you know that?"

"I can see them all clearly Mello."

I hated him! _Hated _him! I turned back to my plate with my breath coming hard and fast, furious. I certainly didn't feel like eating now, but to get up and leave would be acknowledge his victory. He would think he had intimidated me! And if I stopped eating, while he went on enjoying his meal without a care…I couldn't allow it! I would eat, and I would eat every bite of food on my plate!

"Mel, come on. A little breathing room please." Matt was pushing against my arm lightly. Apparently, in a unconscious effort to put space between Near and me, I'd crushed up against the redhead to my other side, and he was having to make an effort not to bump the kid on _his _other side.

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled, moving over just a bit. A very tense silence followed. I sat there fuming, Matt fiddled uncomfortably with his silverware, and Near went on eating as if the rest of the world wasn't even there.

"So, uh, Near," Matt said, in such a terribly polite voice I felt like slapping him. "Do you know anything about Room 259?"

I really came close to slapping him now. I knew he was trying to break the ice, get rid of the suffocating tension surrounding us, but that was _our _subject! How dare he bring Near in on that!

"Yes," was Near's simple, uninterested answer. My mouth dropped open, my eyes widening. Oh so he knew something, did he? Just what sort of thing? It couldn't be possible that Roger had told _him _all about the room. He wouldn't tell Near and not tell me! But he'd always favored him hadn't he? He'd always liked Near better, always thought he was smarter-

"Really?" Matt's excited voice interrupted my thoughts. "What do you know about it?"

We were beginning to attract stares from the other kids. Still, I was glad Matt had asked, because I certainly wasn't going to. But this way I could still get some information, and then Near and I would be equal in this aspect at least. Well, nearly equal. He had uncovered the information first after all.

The white-haired boy faced us fully for the first time, his eyes wide and blinking slowly every few seconds. "Would Mello like to know about The Room, too?"

I just knew my face was reddening again. "No! I already know all about it! Roger told me _weeks _ago." Just keep your mouth shut Matt, just keep your mouth shut. "I already know everything about it. I don't need you to tell me anything!"

"Oh, alright." Near turned back to his food, looking slightly more gloomy than usual. Disappointed that you won't get to rub your knowledge in my face, you little brat? "You should probably ask Mello about The Room then, Matt. He probably knows more than I do about it."

I could have throttled him! He knew I was lying, didn't he? I was getting so angry I felt ill. I couldn't stand this a moment longer. I got to my feet, my face burning. "Come on Matt. I'm done eating."

"But I'm not-" I grabbed him by the collar, jerking him to his feet and dragging him from the table. Everyone was staring, and as soon as I left they would start whispering. They'd think I was afraid of him. Near…

"Mello, what the hell?" Matt twisted away from me as soon as we were out of the hall, rubbing his neck as he scowled at me. "I'm still hungry!"

"Well you can just stand it!" I snapped, storming down the corridor furiously, towards the stairway. He followed after me, as I expected he would. "That little brat! He thinks he's so much better than me!"

"Mello, I don't think he was trying to insult you," said Matt, frustratingly calm. I started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Really, it's not as bad as you think. You're getting kind of paranoid about him."

"Paranoid? _Paranoid_?!" I slammed my fist against the railing. "Maybe you're just stupid Matt, and that's why you can't see it! It's perfectly clear what he was doing!" We were now off the stairs, heading toward my room. Matt was having to jog to keep up with me.

"Come on Mel, don't be like that," he said, sounding somewhat hurt. Well good! He deserved to be hurt for bringing up the wretched subject to Near in the first place! "I just meant maybe you should calm down a little-"

I slammed my door right in his face.

…

I took my anger out on the bed pillow, twisting it in my fists as I yelled into it all the things I would have liked to say to Roger, Near, Matt and every other idiot in this wretched House. I'm sure plenty of people thought we were fortunate to be living here, but they were wrong. This place was miserable, pitting us against each other in a race to be better, constantly pressuring us to improve. Better, better, better. Nothing was ever enough here. It wasn't enough until you were 1st, until you achieved what Near had. Until you tore it away from him, stole it for yourself. Only then had you truly accomplished something.

I curled up, hugging the pillow to my chest, and snatched a chocolate bar off my bedside table. I bit off a piece, letting it slowly melt in my mouth, concentrating on the smoothness of the taste. Even if I did achieve such a thing, even if I did become 1st, I still couldn't relax, because there would always be others trying to steal the title. Just as I was trying to do. I was Near's biggest threat. But he…he didn't even care. He didn't see me as such, I knew he didn't. I didn't intimidate him. I doubt he ever lay awake at night, too frustrated to sleep. I doubt getting back test results made him feel so nervous he'd go without eating the entire day. He didn't feel what I felt. He never had, because he'd always been 1st. Matt didn't feel this. Nobody felt this way but me.

And now this. Near knew something about Room 259 that I didn't, something I couldn't achieve, something I'd tried so hard to get, and he already had it. How? _How _was it possible? Why was he always a step ahead, always better?

No. Not this time. In this, I could catch up. There were other ways to get information. I didn't have to ask. I'd find out for myself. Tonight Roger would leave his office and go to bed, and then I would be up. Room 259's key was somewhere in that office, and if it took all night, I was going to find it.

…

I waited until midnight, when I was sure everyone would be in bed and asleep, including Roger. Only then did I get up from where I lay on the bed, making my way quietly across the wood floor and snatching up my flashlight from the foot of my bed. I opened my door carefully, checking first to see if anyone was about, then emerged into the dark hallway.

I made my way down the stairs, heading past the dining hall and common room, all the way to Roger's office, right near the House's main entrance. His door was locked of course, but I had some knowledge of lock-picking and could manage some as long as they weren't too advanced, or too old in make. This one was very simple. I had it done quickly.

I didn't like his office even during the day. It smelled of dust, and there were enough books in here to make one dizzy. Not to mention it just had a distinct "aura of Roger" about it. But that key, where would he be keeping it?

I looked over the desk, making sure to leave everything how it had been originally. If he noticed his things had been tampered with, the first person he would suspect would be me. I began searching through the drawers next. There were two that had locks, and I searched those last. The left one held nothing, but the right held within it a slim, dusty old file.

It picked it up curiously, and as I did I caught sight of a thick key beneath it, with the numbers 259 molded into the rusty handle. I grinned triumphantly and picked it up, stuffing it into my pocket. It sure was a heavy little thing. As for the file…why was it being kept locked away?

I sat beneath the desk, using my flashlight to see. I wasn't sure what I was looking at, at first, but then I realized it was medical records. No full name was written down on any of the papers, just the letter "A". Then the "A" written above 259's door handle wasn't just a simple letter, it was a name! A had been a person… one of the children chosen to live here. Judging by his date of birth, he would be about as old as L. One of the first ones chosen then, one of those here before me and Near, perhaps before we were even born.

But these records had a very interesting story to tell. The oldest ones were perfectly normal, saying, in short, that A was a healthy child. Then that changed. He was prescribed depression medication and his weight dropped. The doctor's visits grew more frequent. These two papers here were typed up in the same month, only weeks apart. And then…

The doctor's papers stopped. Only one paper remained in the file.

A death certificate.

Deceased at 12 years old, my own age. Cause of death was marked suicide, and the location was in this very house. Suddenly it clicked. A had died at Wammy's House, and I knew exactly where. Room 259.

A room unfit for use. But why? This still didn't explain everything. A death alone wasn't a good enough reason to keep a room locked up and unused for years. Something had happened before A died, something that couldn't be erased. Something that was still waiting to be found.

I put away the file quickly, leaving the office and relocking the door. Had Near seen that file? Or did he know even more than that? Did he know what made the room unfit for use, or did I now know as much as he on the subject? There was only one way to be sure. I had to find out everything there was to be discovered about that room and what had happened there. Now that I had the key, I could do just that.

Tomorrow night, after lights out, I would get into Room 259.

…

_Here's some information on the character of "A", another of the Wammy's House Boys. For those of you who have already read Another Note, you may remember him being mentioned, on page 105 of the novel. We are told only he was the first child taken in after L, and he committed suicide because he was unable to deal with the stress of living up to being L. So other than that little bit, I've had to create A from my own imagination._

_Roger's last name really is Ruvie, according to Death Note 13: How To Read._


	2. Chapter 2

I slept in late the next morning, and would have stayed in bed longer than I did, if it hadn't been for Matt pounding on my door, telling me to come down to breakfast. I'd never changed out of the previous day's clothes and hadn't showered the night before either, so I certainly wasn't feeling fantastic. However my rotten mood vanished when I remembered the happenings of the previous night, and what would happen tonight.

I was nervous, excited, and anxious all at once. This wasn't just about surpassing Near; I truly was curious.

I changed my clothes before leaving my room, just outside of which Matt was still waiting for me, leaning against the wall. I wondered suddenly if he was upset about how I'd treated him last night.

"About time you got up," he said, not looking at me as he did. His eyes were otherwise occupied, staring at the screen of a GameBoy "You have a late night?"

"Yeah, soft of," I said. I was relieved that he didn't seem mad. How I treated him was one thing I would really, truly feel guilty about. Sometimes.

Over breakfast, I suddenly began to wonder if I should investigate the room alone…or tell Matt of my plans and take him with me. It had been he who had really gotten me interested in the first place, and encouraged me to try to find out more about it. It didn't seem fair to go without him. Not only that, but he had a tendency to make things better. He wasn't afraid to let someone know when he was impressed, and I seemed to have a tendency to impress him often. The story of having stolen the key, and found out what I did about 259 already, would certainly make him happy to hear.

I had to wait until the meal and morning school lessons were over before we got a moment alone. It was in the library, where we were both sitting to finish the brief amount of after-lessons work we would have to turn in tomorrow. This gave me a good excuse to sit close to him, since we were sharing the same book, and I was therefore able to whisper without looking suspicious. It was fun watching his eyes grow wider with every word I told him.

"Tonight then?" he said, making sure to whisper as well. "That's when you'll go?"

"Probably, if everything works out right. I don't see why it wouldn't, but…" I shrugged. It was always best to prepare for the unexpected.

"Where should I meet you then? What time?"

I hadn't invited him, but I said anyway, "As soon as it's lights out, meet me outside 259."

He nodded, smiling excitedly, and I got to my feet, my work finished. "I'll see you later then." I turned to go, and immediately my whole body tensed. Near was sitting just a little ways away from us, an open book on the floor in front of him. He was focusing on his reading, but just the fact that he was sitting there, _right there_, so very conveniently close, put me on edge. Had he heard anything? Had he actually been eavesdropping on us?

I walked past him without a word, and though I didn't turn my head my eyes followed him until he disappeared behind me. I was lucky I didn't run into a wall. If he'd heard anything, then how much? Did he know everything now? He'd probably tell Roger and spoil my plans!

I spent the rest of the day waiting. Waiting for lights out, waiting to see if Near was going to tell on me. I watched him carefully throughout the day, looking for any sign, but there didn't seem to be anything unusual. He acted as he always did, but I didn't relax. He had to be planning something.

9:30 pm, and therefore lights out for all the children of the House, drew close. I paced in my room, anxious, waiting. I didn't like to wait for things. There was an ill feeling in my stomach, a desperate want to get things moving, to accomplish this. It had been running through my thoughts all day, and if it was spoiled now…

I sat down on the floor, leaning back against the bed. If Near spoiled this I could well imagine how I'd feel. I always disliked him, but at times I would feel such a vicious hatred towards him it would frighten even me. I wasn't afraid of hurting him for his sake, but my own. It would be one thing if I hit him, or even beat him, but was I capable of killing him? I had imagined it sometimes, what it would be like to do it. I'd imagined strangling him most often, but sometimes-

No. I shook off the thoughts. They made me feel even sicker with worry. If I were to do such a thing, what would happen to me? They would send me to jail certainly. A life sentence? Or a death sentence?

I had to keep such thoughts far from me. If I were to think of such a thing while angry enough, I didn't want to end up doing it. I knew well the dangers of my own temper.

With my mind otherwise occupied, lights out suddenly came quicker than expected. Roger's voice sounded over the intercom, the order for all lights to be turned off in five minutes. I was never sure how exactly they would know if one left the lights on, but if they weren't turned off, you were in for a personal visit from one of the staff to see what you were up to. I certainly knew, because I'd tried it.

I gathered up my flashlight, some candles and matches from under the bed, took the key out from its hiding place in my drawer, turned off the lights, and waited for an additional ten minutes. Just enough time for all the lights to go off, for everyone to be in bed. Only then did I venture out into the hall, shutting the door behind me. I'd used the classic trick of some pillows to give the appearance of someone in my bed – which would work as long as no one looked closely - just in case someone checked in on me. No one ever did, but still. Preparation.

259 was located in a very far corner of the house, down unused corridors and past dozens of empty rooms. I was used to creeping through the House at night, but there was usually some noise, however quiet. The creaking of beds, children talking in their sleep, the soft footsteps of the easily avoidable night watchman. But the farther I got into the deeper reaches of the house, the quieter it got, until it was a bit creepy. Of course there were always the noises of the house itself, but those noises weren't human, they weren't living. I'd been to 259 before, as had almost every child here, but that was during the day. Things were different at night.

It was a relief to reach the room at last, and find Matt there already waiting for me. He jumped up when he saw me coming, rubbing his bare arms. "Kinda cold down here isn't it?" he said, as I reached the door and took the key from my pocket. "Seriously, the rest of the house is _not _this cold."

"Maybe the heating vents in this part of the house have been closed," I said. "Since it isn't used. Here, shine this on the keyhole." I handed him the flashlight, and he did as I said. The lock was really old, not like those on the other rooms. It was probably one of the few original locks left in this old place. I shoved the key in, and for a moment had a panicky feeling that it wouldn't work, that somehow it was the wrong key – but the key turned, the lock clicked, and I turned the knob.

We were in.

…

The door had been stuck pretty tight, and I had to have Matt's help to shove it open. A cloud of dust seemed to waft out as we opened it, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from coughing. The door creaked frighteningly loud on its hinges, and as we stepped inside the floor turned from cold hard wood to something soft. A rug?

Matt shone the flashlight about the room, giving little glimpses of dirty, cobweb strewn furniture. A bed, a chair, a desk. It was bigger than the other rooms of the house. It even looked as if it had a small bathroom.

"Well," said Matt, giving me a light shove. "Go in."

I glared at him, but stepped into the room a bit further. It was as if no heat had reached this place in ages; it was freezing. That, along with the smell of dust and some other odd scent I couldn't put my finger on, the place felt very dead. It wasn't a good feeling at all. The thick darkness and looming furniture didn't make it feel any better.

I was beginning to frighten myself a bit, and sniffed dismissively. It was just a dusty old room. A room that a boy had died in – not that that meant _a thing_. I took out the candles and matches. "Shine the light along the walls. There might be some sconces in here."

"Can't we just find a light switch?" said Matt, even as he did as I'd instructed. I rolled my eyes.

"Then they'll know someone is in here. They have ways of knowing when lights are on. Come on Matt, think."

There were indeed sconces along the walls. I dusted them off one by one, lit the candles and put them in place. That helped a bit, but the darkness in here just seemed so wretchedly thick, as if the flames had to struggle to give off light.

"Well this is just fascinating," said Matt sarcastically. "It's a room. A big room, but still a room. I don't know about you, but I was expecting something a little more-"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Look at the walls."

His mouth dropped open, just as mine had. All over the walls was writing. Messy, scrawled text, child-like letters. Sentences, paragraphs, single words, everywhere. In the corners were piles of crumpled papers, discarded pencils, ancient pens, and little blue bottles of something. Ink perhaps?

"Amazing," said Matt. "He was certainly a writer wasn't he?"

I turned all around, looking about, and caught sight of some particularly large letters above the doorway.

_These words are my will. _

_This room is my testament._

_This breath is my last._

_The works of my life, the only things of worth I ever created._

_Let them stand._

I reached behind me, taking the flashlight from Matt's hand, and shone it at the ceiling above the doorway. I'd thought I had seen something, and I had been right. A dangling rope, its end severed and frayed.

Well that certainly gave me a chill. A had died right here, right in front of the doorway. The first sight anyone entering would see was his body. And the words above the doorway was a request to leave this room, his works, alone. Perhaps Wammy had felt guilty for the child's death, and had therefore honored his last wish, ordering that the room remain untouched. Mystery solved? Perhaps. But all this writing proved there was yet more to be discovered. There was more of a story here. Something deeper.

I walked over to the room I'd suspected to be a bathroom, and found my suspicions to be correct. I set the flashlight on the sink, turned upward to light the room. There was a deep four-legged tub, with a thick ring of rust around its inside. It rather resembled some kind of beast that would like to eat you, and the toilet was much the same. In short, I wasn't liking this place at all. There was more writing in here though. Even the sides of the tub were written upon, in faded blue ink.

"Creepy isn't it?" said Matt, suddenly beside me, making me jump. He giggled a bit to see that, and I punched his arm lightly. I couldn't help that I was on edge. Everything about this place was unwelcoming.

There was a sudden loud creek, followed a click, startling me enough to make me yelp. Damn it. What on earth was I scared of? It was a small comfort that Matt had reacted no differently, and I shook off the sudden grip he had on my arm, turning to shine the light into the previous room.

"Near!" The name grated from my mouth like a curse, and the boy turned to me with wide eyes. He was standing in front of the closed door, reading the words scrawled on its back, curling a short lock of his hair around his finger as he did so. "Why are you here?!"

"Mello said he was coming to this room tonight to investigate," he said. "I wished to see what it was like in here, too."

So he _had _been eavesdropping! "I didn't invite you!" I snapped furiously. "Get out!" I could feel my hands clenching into fists, and I jabbed a finger at the door demandingly. "Go!"

Was it my imagination, or had he winced slightly when I yelled? He nodded, turning back to the door and turning the knob. Of all the nerve! He dared come here, uninvited, after listening in on a conversation that was none of his business?

"Well what are you waiting for?" I said. He was pulling on the door with a slight frown on his face. After another moment of tugging, he said bluntly, "We're locked in."

I stormed over, shoving him out of the way. I tugged on the door, putting all my strength into one massive jerk. My arms felt as if they were almost pulled from their sockets. The door wasn't stuck, it was really locked. It must have locked automatically when closed, locked from the outside. Damn it!

I turned back to Near, my heart pounding so hard with anger it felt as if it would explode out of my chest. "You idiot!" I practically shrieked. The back of my hand struck him across the face, making him stumble, and almost immediately Matt had my arms pinned to my sides, holding me back.

"Stop Mello! He couldn't have known. It was an accident!"

Matt was stronger than I was. He kept me in place even as I struggled. Near didn't back away; he didn't even look afraid. He just watched me, one hand rubbing where I'd hit him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and my anger flared anew.

"Sorry isn't good enough! Sorry doesn't mean anything! Sorry doesn't open that door!" Matt was panting as he struggled to hold me back, and I went on yelling. "You just had to ruin this for me, just like you ruin everything else! You just watch yourself! You got yourself stuck in here me; there's no way out until someone discovers where we are, and who knows when that'll be. Matt can't keep me away from you for long. You better just stay away from me, or there will have been another death in here by morning!"

At last, a reaction from him. His eyes widened, a flash of fear going through them. It felt amazingly good to see that. I ached to see it again, to see more of it, and I tried more than ever to squirm out of Matt's hold.

"Mello," his voice was rough, a result of the effort he was having to put in to contain me. "Stop it-" I jerked suddenly, tripping him up and causing him to stumble to the side, hitting the wall. Restrained as was, my head got struck pretty hard against the doorframe, and my vision slid out of focus, my whole body going limp.

I suppose I lost awareness for a minute or so, because the next thing I knew I was laying on the bathroom floor, having water splashed on my face. I gasped at the cold, opening my eyes dazedly, and saw Matt kneeling over me.

"Your head okay?" he said, as I sat up slowly. I reached up to my sore forehead and found it was especially tender to touch. I winced.

"Just fine Matt," I said sarcastically. "Thanks for nearly splitting it open."

He frowned. "It was your own fault."

I stood up, still feeling a bit dizzy. I saw Near sitting on the bed in the other room, one leg against his chest and his finger curling in his hair. "We're still locked in?"

"Yeah," said Matt gloomily. "I thought all your yelling would have been heard by someone. But we must be too deep in the house."

Then we really were stuck here. But for how long? How long would it take for someone to realize we were missing? Until morning at least, and when I glanced at my watch I saw it was just after 10: 00 pm. Stuck here all night, or longer, locked in a room with Near. I groaned. I'd lose my mind.

I exited the bathroom, taking a seat in one of the dusty chairs. Near had a pile of papers beside him on the bed, collected from around the room, and was reading through them one by one. Matt hovered close by my side, watching me carefully. He needn't have bothered. I was still too dazed to make any violent movements, at least for now.

"Things were quite different for the children here before us," said Near, not looking up. "It is not surprising that A was driven to suicide."

"It won't be surprising if _I'm _driven to suicide, stuck here with you all night," I grumbled.

Near glanced at me, a careful, wondering look. "Yes," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised either."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you and A are rather alike. In some things, the two of you seem to have the same mindset."

Saying he wouldn't be surprised if I killed myself, and honestly meaning it, certainly was insulting. He thought that little of me? He thought I would give up life that easily?

"Isn't there a window in here?" said Matt. Nice timing indeed. He had just managed to interrupt me in the process of thinking up a brilliant come-back. "It's so dusty I can hardly breath."

Now that I actually looked for one, there surprisingly wasn't a single window. As a writer, it seemed A would have liked to have a view outside, as a source of inspiration or something. Yet another oddity.

However, the dust was indeed getting rather bothersome. Since there wasn't a window, I had to assume the dust wasn't made up of much dirt; it was probably mostly ancient spiders' webs. I was going on my second night without a shower, and the dust was just making me feel filthier. It was even getting in my mouth.

"Well, since it seems we're stuck here," I got up from my seat, "I guess we might as well get comfortable. I'm getting a bath."

"Of course that's crucial," said Matt, but I ignored him and shut the bathroom door. This gave me time away from Near, time to clear my head and relax. It was only a bit less dusty in here, probably because there was no cloth for the dust to cling to. I turned on the bath faucet, wondering if it would even work, and it thankfully did. Hot water rushed out, and I had to spend a bit of time searching about for a plug. I finally found it, laying beneath the tub.

As I stripped off my clothes I began to read the writing scrawled on the tub's side. It was in pretty neat lines, going all the way around in a spiral form. But the sentences didn't fit together. It was as if each one was a different thought, just thrown together. One of them even mentioned L, but that subject, like every other mentioned, seemed to be quickly abandoned.

_L is the goal that drives me, the thing I must obtain._

I continued to read as the tub filled, squatting down to get a better look. Were these sentences really so carelessly arranged as I had originally thought? Now that I looked closer, there seemed to be a pattern. There were two subjects being spoken of: L (the first sentence), and Wammy (the second sentence). The pattern then seemed to begin again. After the second sentence (concerning Wammy), the next sentence seemed to return to the subject of L.

_His name is but a title._

Now, I knew Wammy sometimes went by the alias Watari, but he was not being referred to as Watari here. L was an alias of sorts, but it was, perhaps first and foremost, a title.

I turned off the bath water, and continued to read the sentences in this pattern, focusing on those that seemed to be on the subject of L. I had to follow them all the way around to the other side of the tub, which wasn't easy.

_L is the goal that drives me, the thing I must obtain._

_His name is but a title._

_L is not the boy, L is the title, the goal._

_The boy who has the goal, who holds the title, I don't know his name._

_I know nothing about him._

_I have never sought to find out about him, nor will I ever._

_I know him only as far as his title._

_To me, that title is his whole being, the only thing there is to him._

_He goes no deeper than that._

I frowned. Things had indeed been different for the old generation. I didn't think any child here now could possibly think of L in such a way. L was our idol, our hero. We sought to become _him_, to earn his title, not steal it.

The more I read, the more I was convinced of how much A hated this place. The way he spoke of L, and even Wammy.

_Why did you take me in?_

_For your gain, not for my good._

_Another invention, another experiment._

_However, I am the one that failed._

_Your plans were wrong._

_You'll redraw them and try again._

_Your failures are thrown away._

I climbed into the bathwater, sinking in up to my chin. I had been right about the tub; it really did seem like it would swallow me, if only it could force itself to move. There was no soap, and no towels either, as I realized stupidly late. I would have to go without both. The words I'd just read wouldn't get out of my head, and they were making me rather uncomfortable. I couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but they seemed somehow familiar, especially those concerning L.

It took me hardly ten minutes to scrub off, getting myself as clean as I possibly could without soap. The heat helped relax me, and my frustration and anger towards Near for our predicament calmed. As I pulled the plug, emptying the bathwater, I felt as if I could manage to face him again.

I shook off the excess water on my skin, and simply put my clothes back on while I was still damp. I exited the bathroom, and found that the other two had fallen asleep.

Matt was curled up in the chair I'd previously been sitting in, mumbling quietly, and Near was on the bed, the papers he'd been reading having been moved to the floor. I was quite tired myself, but it seemed the only place left for me to sleep was the floor. I didn't like the idea. Though there was a rug, it was small and extremely dirty, and bare floor wasn't comfortable. Besides that, sleeping right on the ground in this room…it seemed so vulnerable. Unsafe. What exactly I had to be safe from, I had no idea.

Then the only option was the bed. Next to Near. I practically gagged. Share a bed with _him_? If only it had been Matt, but no, he'd just had to choose the chair. It was a big bed at least, there would be room between us. Still, the very idea of it was just…ew. I even began to seriously consider attempting to squeeze onto the chair. Or I could just go ahead and sleep on the floor.

But that would mean letting Near win again! Letting him have the whole bed to himself while I slept on the _floor_? No, that was not happening. I lay down on the available side of the bed, making sure there was as much space between us as possible, and tried to convince myself that I was perfectly comfortable.

I just hoped he wasn't a restless sleeper.


	3. Chapter 3

One terrible thing about 259 having no windows was that, no matter the time of day, it would always be dark. Waking up again, after sleeping for what felt like hours, and finding it to be just as dark as when I'd fallen asleep, was rather disorienting. Not to mention that I certainly wasn't used to waking up in this room.

The thing was, I simply couldn't sleep with something pressing against me. And as soon as I realized it was, in fact, something touching me which had woken me up, I was more awake than ever, my whole body going stiff. Laying on my side, I turned my head to peak over my shoulder, only to find Near disturbingly close, pressed against my back.

It took all my self-control to not jump up and give him another bruise to go with the one I'd given him earlier. What was he _doing_? Was he still asleep? No. No it would perfectly believable if he wasn't! He _did_ want the bed to himself, and was trying to get me out. Well he was most certainly not going intimidate me into leaving this bed. I was staying right where I was.

He was beginning to move again, and I forced myself to stay still. I could deal with this. No big deal. Ooooh, but he'd reached up and gotten a hold on my arm, gripping it like it was one of his precious toys. Too close, way too close. Undoubtedly this was one of the biggest invasions of personal space I'd ever endured. I growled quietly in frustration, wishing he'd back off.

However he looked perfectly content to remain just as he was. In fact, he looked so completely relaxed, that, if he really was awake, he was amazing at faking sleep.

I sighed heavily. If Matt woke up and saw this, I'd never hear the end of it.

…

At some point I drifted off back to sleep, because the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes again. I was alone in the bed, and I could hear the bathroom sink running. Sitting up, I saw Matt was washing his face, still looking somewhat drowsy, and Near was seated on the floor, going through old papers again. According to my watch, it was 7:22 am.

All the candles were out, but it was still perfectly well lit in 259. Someone had turned on the lights. I climbed out of bed, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Near," I said, not waiting for any acknowledgement that he'd heard me before continuing. "Did you turn the lights on?"

"Yes. I suspect that the staff here monitor the electrical currents to each room. They will perhaps be more likely to find us this way."

I nodded. It was similar to my own suspicions of how they would always know if a light was still on after 9:30. If only we'd thought of this the night before, we perhaps could have been out by now. I might not have even had to spend the night in a bed with Near.

Of course, as soon as I remembered that little incident I could feel my face growing hot. Near wouldn't say anything would he? He might really have been asleep, but somehow that made it even more awkward.

It wasn't like anything had _happened_. What was wrong with me? It was ridiculous to put even another second of thought into it.

"I'm starving," said Matt, as he emerged from the bathroom, the front of his hair dripping wet. "You think they'll find us before breakfast is over?"

I shook my head. Breakfast would probably be when they just notice we were missing. We could be stuck in here for hours still.

With nothing else to do, I picked up one of the crumpled papers Near had in a pile beside him. It seemed to be a page from a journal. A very depressing, emo-boy journal, like all A's other writings. And Near actually thought A and I were alike?

Then I suddenly thought of the writing I'd read on the tub the other night. Something about A's words concerning L had been bothering me. What was it? They were familiar somehow. Then I realized. L had been A's rival, just as Near was mine. I thought of Near the same way A had thought of L. A's words were my own thoughts, therefore causing their familiarity.

Of course, if someone had asked me to write down what I thought of Near, I wouldn't have been able to do as A had. I didn't think of Near that way _consciously_. However, it was still true. I didn't know Near as a person, nor did I want to. He was just my rival, just the boy who held the title I wanted. I'd never bothered to wonder, and certainly not to ask, why he enjoyed puzzles so much, or played with his hair, or sat in an odd way. I'd never wondered if he remembered his parents, or missed them. I'd never wondered about his personal thoughts at all, unless I suspected they concerned me.

Was that why Near said A and I were alike? Had he already figured this out, even before I did? But he couldn't possibly know me that well. It wasn't as if he ever inquired about _my _personal life either. There was no way he could know what I thought of him. Still, I hated that I was probably fitting right into the little profile he'd created for me.

I tried to think of something I could say to him, some question I could ask. Something that would really throw him off. However the very idea of actually trying to have a conversation with him was so bizarre my mind went blank.

"Near," I said, still uncertain what exactly I should say. "Um…why…" Why do you play with your hair? Why do you sit like you do? Why were clinging to me last night? I was taking so long to get on with it he was actually looking up at me now, making this even more difficult. "Why…why did you listen to my conversation with Matt? In the library yesterday."

He blinked several times, still completely silent. Say something, damn it! I was already feeling like an idiot for even opening my mouth.

"What Mello does interests me," he said at last, avoiding my eyes and looking at the floor again. "Mello is always doing fun things, but never invites anyone else. Except Matt."

So much for my plan to shock him. He'd done to me exactly what I'd been attempting to do to him. By "anyone else" he couldn't possibly mean himself, could he? And what I did "interested" him? What was that supposed to mean? It sounded creepy.

"Well usually when people aren't invited they get a clue and realize they aren't wanted around," I said. "Usually they don't go butting into other people's business. They don't eavesdrop on conversations that don't concern them."

"I wasn't eavesdropping, I simply overheard. If the two of you had wanted a private conversation, you should have chosen some place more secluded. The library is a public area. I did not assume you were sharing secrets."

I forced myself to stay calm. There was no point in getting worked up, not again. Clearly, this boy knew nothing whatsoever of how human culture worked. I never would have imagined he could possibly be so ignorant.

"When people are whispering, it's because they don't want to be heard," said Matt, who had apparently been listening in. "Come on Near, you knew what you were doing."

"I thought I did, but apparently I was doing something different. If I was rude, it was unintentional. My apologies."

"You're not stupid Near," I said, leaning back against the wall. "You came just to be annoying didn't you? Why would you be interested in what I was doing, if you weren't trying to ruin it for me?"

"Mello has the wrong impression of me." He said it as a statement, certainly not a question. As if it was plain fact. "I would never wish to ruin something for Mello. I am interested in what Mello does because he has so many friends, and seems to live happily. I want to see how he does it. I envy him."

I glanced at him sharply. He had to be trying to confuse me, to throw me off guard. Envy me? It really was a pathetic excuse for a lie; it wasn't even believable in the least. Fine. If he didn't want to give me the truth, I didn't care. I wasn't interested anyway. I didn't know why I bothered in the first place.

Unfortunately, I couldn't exactly just get up and walk away from him. There wasn't really anywhere for me to walk to, unless I went to the other side of the bedroom, which would look weird. I just had to sit there, feeling even more stupid because I couldn't think of a wretched thing to say.

…

Time passed, and I was beginning to get a bit desperate. They had to have noticed we were missing by now, so they would be looking for us. It couldn't be much longer.

I began to pace the room. I was really feeling hungry, and I couldn't even bear to let the thought of chocolate cross my mind, for fear of really losing it because I wanted some so badly. The room was feeling more like a prison than ever, the air stuffy, stale, and drying.

"Don't count me in to anymore of your brilliant investigation plans in the future Mello," said Matt, sprawled out on the bed. "You'll end up getting me killed, I just know it."

"This isn't my fault," I snapped. Near, of course, didn't pay any attention to that very obvious accusation. He was still reading, completely calm, unflustered, uninterested. I began knocking my fist against the wall, feeling the tension building in me. "Damn it. What's taking them so long?" I glanced at my watch. 7:25 am.

Wait. That wasn't possible. I looked again, and saw that I hadn't read wrong. The clock had stopped. Could the battery have died? But this watch was relatively new. The battery should have been half-full, at the least. Had it just broken then?

"Matt, you have a watch with you?" I said, and he shook his head. "Near? What about you?" Another negative. Well, this was just great. Now I couldn't even keep track of time. Near raised his head suddenly, looking about with wide eyes.

"The temperature is dropping," he said. "It has gone down at least 5 degrees in only a few minutes."

Now that he mentioned it, it did seem to be getting colder. Even now, it was as if sudden rushes of cold air kept blasting in. I shivered. The AC perhaps? But why would it be on? It was autumn, the days were cool. A draft? But there weren't even windows in the hall outside.

Something caught my attention above the front doorway. The severed rope hung there swinging, slowly back and forth as if someone had given it a tug. Was it just me, or was it longer?

Imagination. Purely imagination. My thinking was dulled from the lack of food and stale air. My head was beginning to ache a bit, and I shifted my position to lay down, my face against the cold floorboards. Very cold. Like ice.

It was far too cold to endure. I got up, feeling slightly dizzy, making my way over to the bed. "Matt, move over," I said, shoving him lightly. He didn't react; he lay there completely still, not the slightest movement. Why was he holding his breath? "Matt, come on, move it."

I climbed onto the bed, the springs creaking, and reached over to pull up on his goggles, with the intention of letting them slap back down on his face, but when I uncovered his eyes I froze. They were open and staring, glossed over, empty. Dead.

"Matt?" I leaned closer. Not the slightest breath, not a twitch, nothing. This wasn't possible. There was no reason for it. There was no logical reason! Could he be faking? He had to be.

I was beginning to go cold all over, inside and out, like a block of ice had settled in stomach. I couldn't get my breath right. No logical reason, none at all. Then this room wasn't logical. No, it was. There was nothing wrong with this room. There was nothing supernatural about it. But how could this be explained?

"Near!" I turned to him, beginning to feel a bit panicked. Logical explanation. There was one somewhere. And Matt wasn't dead. He was sick, or unconscious, or… "Matt is-"

"I know," His reply cut me off. "He's fine."

"No he's not! Would you get over here and help me? We have to do something!"

"I'm not interested in helping," he said. He didn't even look up. I was tempted to punch him out right then, but Matt still wasn't moving. What was I supposed to do? I had no idea what was wrong with him! I checked his wrist for a pulse. Nothing. It must just be too soft to feel then. It didn't mean there wasn't one, I just couldn't feel it.

What could I do? Had he gotten too cold? Lack of food – no, no we'd been in here only hours, not days. It wasn't starvation. Lack of water? No, I'd seen him drinking water from the sink faucet earlier. Was the water bad then? Poisoned? But how could that be possible? The whole house shared the same water!

"Think harder Mello. Have you really been in here only hours?"

"Of course we have, Near! Don't be-" I stopped. That wasn't Near's voice. It wasn't a voice I knew at all. I looked over my shoulder, and there, standing in front of the door, was a brown-haired boy about my own age. A thick bruise circled his neck, and his skin was so pale it was almost white. Even Near had more color than he did.

I turned to face him fully. "How did you get in here?" I didn't recognize him as one of the children from the house. I hadn't heard him come in, and the door was still shut. "Who are you?"

The boy smiled oddly, tipping his head to one side, his eyes widening. "I've been in here a long time. I got in how you did. I am…not logical."

An answer to both questions, and yet it still made no sense, especially that last bit. Well, perhaps that _did _make sense…in a nonsense kind of way…

I shook my head quickly. I realized Near hadn't even looked at the stranger, hadn't even given the slightest recognition of his presence. What was going on? Had I fallen asleep? Was I dreaming?

Yes, that had to be it. I was dreaming. Dreams made no sense, hence the illogical events. I just had to wait it out, and I'd wake up.

The boy was still smiling, a wide, toothy grin. It seemed almost predatory, somewhat like how a cat would look if it grinned.

"What's wrong with your friend?" he said, beginning to step closer. I backed up a bit on the bed.

"Don't come near us," I said quickly. Why did I bother? This was a dream, he couldn't hurt me. Not really. But he was giving off a really negative vibe, something about him was definitely wrong. "Leave us alone."

"Oh I can't do that," he said, and sighed. "It is you who need to leave _me _alone. You invaded my room. You interrupted the peace with all your bickering and anger."

"_Your _room?" I nodded slowly. "Ah, I see. So this is your room. You're A. His ghost, right?"

He tipped his head the other way. "I would think you a bit more clever if you actually believed your own words. However, you _are _clever. Too clever for your own good. If you weren't quite so intelligent, you would perhaps believe wholeheartedly that I am what I am. But for now, to you I must remain not logical."

I raised my eyebrows, deciding to humor him. This was only a dream after all. I had to cling to that belief; this was indeed a dream. "Not logical?"

"_Not Logical_," he said, extending a pale, bony hand. "Mr. Logical, first name Not."

"Right," I said, unable to stop staring at him. He was very odd to see, with eyes even wider than Near's. It was unnerving. I took his hand carefully, then winced and jerked back. Touching him was like picking up a cold, damp, slimy rock. It was one of the strangest textures a human hand could possibly have.

But this was a _dream_.

"Anyway, your friend," he said, leaning over the bed to stare down at Matt. I almost pushed him away, but restrained myself. "He looks quite dead."

"He isn't dead!" I shrieked. "This is a dream! I'm asleep. Matt is fine. Awake somewhere. This isn't him. This is just the him in my head."

"Ah, indeed?"

"Yes."

"We're in your head?"

"Exactly."

"I thought we were in my room?"

"We are. We're in a room that I made yours in my head."

"Which makes sense?"

"No. I mean yes. Yes, because this is a dream, and dreams are not logical. Which makes perfect sense, in this case."

His grin returned, stretching across his entire face, showing rows of very white, strangely sharp teeth. "Not Logical?"

Talk about head games. Maybe it was best if I ignored him. If I ignored all of this. I would have to wake up soon anyway. A, or Not Logical, or whoever my too-tired mind had decided to make him, chuckled.

"You should give up," he said, going over to stand beside Near. He bent over at the waist, turning his head upside-down to get a look a Near's face. The white-haired boy didn't react. "You won't wake. Not until I let you. And I don't think I will for quite some time." He looked back up at me, jabbing a finger at Near. "He's dull, isn't he?"

"Well, in personality," I said. "But he's rather smart." Far _too _smart.

"In personality?" He chuckled again. "What do you know of his personality?"

Don't respond, don't respond. What was the wretch doing, coming near me again? He shoved his face close to mine, making me jerk back. "No reply? Oh yes, you're dreaming. I am Not Logical, you are Not Awake, he is Dull Personality, and he," he jerked his head toward Matt, "is Not Dead. But," he held up a finger quickly. "That is only because we are in your head. We are only these things in your mind. So what are we in reality?"

I felt as if I had stumbled into an insane asylum and was locked up with one of the inmates. What a strange way to pass the time until we were discovered and let out, at which point I would certainly wake up. "Are you trying to say that, in reality, things are the opposite of what they are now?"

"Am I?"

"Well I asked you! Are you saying that?"

"It's _your _head. According to you, I am part of your imagination, therefore I can be trying to tell you that cows are green and the grass is black and white, if you want me to be. Don't you know your own head?"

I'd thought I did. But apparently not. I never would have thought I could think up something this bizarre. Not Logical pressed his knuckles to his mouth, as if suppressing a laugh, or hiding another horrid grin.

"I shall cease to humor you for a moment," he said. "But I _always _knew my own head. It was a skill. I always knew exactly what I was thinking. My mind was never a confusing place to be. It always made perfect sense, and was never not logical, whether I was dreaming or not. Your head, obviously, is a very confusing place."

"It isn't!" I said automatically, since the way he'd said it made it sound like an insult. I got up from the bed, heading into the bathroom and shutting the door, the only place I could find solitude. I hated dreams! Such a waste of time! "Wake up, wake up," I muttered, gripping my hair and giving it a good tug. It hurt. A lot. More than a dream should have. Enough to make my eyes water a bit.

"Getting teary?"

I leapt back, knocking into the door. Not Logical stood in front of me, watching me closely. Dream or not, I wanted him gone. I swung my fist towards him, right at his face…

I didn't want to acknowledge that it went through him. I didn't, I didn't, I didn't. But…that was exactly what it had looked like had happened. My hand felt damp and slimy.

"Get out!" I yelled. "Leave me alone! Just stop!"

He pulled back, his eyes widening to an impossible degree. They should have fallen out of his face. "You aren't very much like me at all," he sounded disappointed. "I was never such a spoiled brat." I plugged my ears and closed my eyes. Go away, go away. His voice still came to me though, impossibly clear. "Lets fix your thinking a bit. I think it's in need of some adjustment."

Silence. I opened my eyes cautiously, and found myself suddenly back out in the bedroom, standing in front of Near, who went ahead reading his pile of papers. Not a word, no a reaction. Not Logical stood opposite me, behind Near.

"Now, you said this boy has a dull personality. Answer, and tell me how you know he does."

I didn't say a word. I wasn't going to play his silly game anymore. His arm snapped out suddenly, grabbing my face and jerking it toward him. "Answer me, or I'll fill your mouth up with blood."

My temper flared, but I already knew it was useless to hit him. "He just seems dull, alright?"

"Ah. Just as I seem not logical, and the red-head seems dead?"

I huffed. "Sure. Like that."

"However," he released me, leaving my face feeling slimy. "We can both agree that dreams often twist things in to what they are not, can't we?"

"Yes," I said, hating to agree with him.

"Dreams are made of our thoughts. Therefore, what you see now, in Near's case, is only what you think of him. This is not really Near, it is only the Near you created in your own mind. I wish, very much, that before I died I had made an effort to know the two boys I lived here with. If that had been the case, I probably wouldn't be dead, I might really have become the next L, and you wouldn't be here now. But it's lucky for you that you came here. I know what it's like to hate someone, and yet to be obsessed with them. I know what it's like to spend my time worrying, feeling tense, feeling that desperation to do _something_. I know well what that feels like. So, in that we are alike."

"Just tell me what I have to do to wake up," I said, my head feeling exhausted. If this was a dream, it was far too real. If it wasn't…then I must have officially gone off the deep end. I didn't even want to bother trying to figure it out anymore. The close air in the room was making my head feel light, and my hunger wasn't helping matters. If I really was stuck in some sort of "other plain", perhaps somewhere between awake and asleep, or living and dead, and this Not Logical fellow was keeping me here, then I could be stuck like this for years, if that was the illusion I was given, while perhaps only a few seconds would pass in reality. The studies I'd done on drug-induced hallucinations flashed through my mind, but that was pointless. I certainly wasn't on anything.

"Ah, at last some cooperation," said Not Logical, grinning that predatory grin again. "You're an awfully stubborn child."

The way he called me a child, while looking no older than me himself, grated on my nerves, but I didn't say anything. He'd worn me out, and I simply didn't have the energy to get worked up.

"I think just a bit of practice is in order," he continued. "I am a mere half-spirit after all, a wisp, a fragment, a memory. Something left over at the scene of a violent death." He glanced over at the rope hanging above the doorway. "I have only the strength to influence the mind at the lowest degree. I can do no more to your mind than you can, the difference being I know how, and you don't. So I can certainly not take you back in time to fix your mistakes, nor stop time to give you a longer opportunity to fix things. I can, however, give you a bit of practice in how to modify your behavior in the future. The best way to practice is repetition, therefore, you shall take a little trip through your memories. All the times you could have been kind, but weren't, will be replayed for you, and you shall practice them until you get them right."

It reminded me of Roger. Any way I looked at it, this was a punishment. A cruel one. I was already thinking back on all the times I'd been less than nice to Near. It would be fun go through those events again as they had originally been, but having to go back in those memories and force myself to miss the golden opportunities they presented? Cruel. Without a doubt, cruel.

"I'm going to send you into your memories whether you like it or not," Not Logical went on, "But it would help if you chose to continue being cooperative. You do want to wake up after all, don't you?"

I exhaled loudly, hard enough to let him get an idea of how angry I was. "Fine."

"Very good. Now," he looked about a moment, frowning slightly. "You'll need something to keep you tethered…Ah." He went over to the wall beside the doorway, placed his hands against the old wood panels…and began to climb up the wall. Like some sort of spider, his hands simply stuck. As if he couldn't have gotten any more bizarre.

He pulled down the dangling rope, dropped to the floor, and tied it up quickly into a noose. "Here," he held it out to me. "Put this around your neck."

"No!" My hands leapt to my throat, a entirely ridiculous motion. I quickly jerked them back down to my sides. "I'm not putting my head in a noose!"

"Your mind is a dangerous place to wander," he said. "Too long dawdling in your memories and you'll become absorbed in them, and I won't be able to bring you back. You need something to continually remind you why you're there, what your purpose is, and that you must return. Not only that, but this, a piece of reality, will make it easier for me to find you. Put it around your neck."

Would he force me, if I refused? He'd already said he was sending me whether I liked it or not, so he quite obviously had no problem resorting to force. I hated submitting to everything he said, but held out my hand grudgingly, and he dropped the noose into it. I place it around my neck, loose enough so that it simply lay upon my shoulders. I felt ridiculous.

He began to reach for me, and I scrambled back without thought. He frowned. "Come now. I thought you were cooperating."

"I am! You shouldn't just reach for me without warning."

"Ah," he tipped his head to the side. "You're afraid of me."

"I am not," I said, stepping forehead, as close to him as I could bear to make myself stand. "Go ahead."

He placed his hands on my head, one on either side. Cold, damp, slimy hands. Like two toads that had just swam out of a pool of algae. I was positively cringing at the feel of them. His fingers suddenly began to make firm circles against my skull, and I nearly jerked away.

"Don't do that!" I snapped, feeling awkward enough as it was. The creep.

"My apologies. I'd hoped to relax you."

"Well don't."

"Very well. But it is necessary that you relax. Otherwise we cannot proceed."

So he had lied. He wouldn't have been able to force me, as I could guarantee that I certainly wouldn't be relaxed when being forced to do something. I wasn't sure if I could relax around him at all.

"Look, if I do this, and get it right, you'll return everything to normal won't you?" I said. "You'll make Matt wake up and leave us alone."

"Certainly."

I closed my eyes. I had to think of something calming. The taste of chocolate seemed like a good place to start. Smooth and rich, bitter and sweet at the same time. Hard, then soft. Delicious…I really missed it…

Something was blowing softly against my face, something that smelled fresh and cool. Nothing like the air in 259.

I opened my eyes.

…

_A, or as he introduces himself, Not Logical, was a very fun character to write. Character building is definitely my favorite part of writing. Of course I didn't create him entirely myself, the inspiration for his character coming from a combination of L, B, and Alice In Wonderland's the Cheshire Cat. The name Not Logical was also inspired by the strange names in Another Note (Backyard Bottomslash, Quarter Queen, etc.)._


	4. Chapter 4

I was standing outside Wammy's House, my feet bare, knee deep in grass. I could hear other children close by, and just ahead of me, to my right, sat Near. He looked very small sitting as he was, one knee pulled up and his whole body more than half-buried in the grass. I remembered this day. He would be over there playing with his toys. I almost laughed. His expression when I'd taken one of those toys away was priceless. Near wasn't much of a fighter.

It was wonderful to be outside again, and I hesitated for a bit to enjoy the fresh air. I still would have loved to think I was dreaming, and if I truly was, I was resigned to going along with it. If it wasn't…well, I'd worry about that later. But I'd heard that those who are crazy never think they are, and I was certainly wondering if I had lost my mind. I therefore hadn't.

I sighed heavily. There was too many back-and-forths here, too many things canceling each other out. I was intelligent certainly, but my mind had its limits to how much it could take at a time, especially when under stress.

At any rate, it was best to get this over with. Be nice to Near, kindness where it hadn't been before. So what did I have to do? Well, not take away his toys I supposed. Ignore him?

I began to wonder if I could eat in these memories, but I soon found that I couldn't wander. I couldn't figure what set these limitations, but I could only guess that it was Not Logical being difficult. So I sat in the grass and waited, and eventually Near got up and left. I hadn't been mean to him, so I'd set things right hadn't I?

"Wrong!" The scene faded quickly. It felt almost like I fell a few feet, but on what I landed I couldn't say. Everything was black; not dark, just black. I could feel nothing beneath me when I put my hands down, which made my stomach lurch terribly, and yet somehow I was able to push off of something and stand. It was an indescribable feeling.

Not Logical was suddenly storming towards me out of nowhere. He got right up in my face, matching my height almost exactly, he being just the slightest bit taller. "What is wrong with you? You are supposed to be intelligent!" he slapped my forehead with his palm, making me lash out automatically. Unsuccessful, again. I just came away with a slimy hand. "What were you doing?"

"I was doing what you said!" I yelled. "I wasn't mean to him! I set it right didn't I?"

"No! Idiot! You are replaying events where there could have been kindness, but wasn't! Think of what that means!"

Another drop, and I was back in the grass. These sudden changes were beginning to make me feel slightly nauseous. Kindness where there could have been, but wasn't. Then I didn't have to just avoid being mean to Near, I actually had to go out of my way to be nice to him.

That really ate away at me. I felt so controlled, doing exactly as that freakish spirit thing wanted. But what else was I to do? There was no way out now, I had agreed to this. I could get through it. I could manage to be nice to him.

There he was again, sitting in the grass. Taking a deep breath, I got up and walked over to his side. I didn't expect him to look up, so the fact that he didn't react didn't surprise me.

"Near?" I said, even while thinking of all the other things I'd rather do than this. Like listen to a thousand of Roger's lectures. Or eat worms.

The white-haired boy looked up from his toys. "Mello? What is it?"

"What are you doing?" Stupid question. Stupid, stupid. It was obvious what he was doing.

"Just playing." He made a small motion to the three action figures he'd brought out of the House with him.

"Well…" I felt like biting my tongue off. But Not Logical probably wouldn't like that. If all this was for real, I really didn't want to end up trapped in my own mind. "Can I play?"

I wanted to scream out that I took it back. This was so humiliating, so sickening. Maybe I _would _prefer to stay trapped rather than do this. A small flicker of surprise went across Near's usually expressionless face, and he said, "If Mello would like to. I would like it very much."

I would _not _like to. I didn't have the slightest desire to play with him. But I thumped down to my knees, picking up one of the toys. "I'd love to."

Near had an entire scenario. He told it to me carefully, and was sure to remind me of it every so often so I wouldn't forget. They were amazingly complex, the story-lines he would think up and actually act out. I don't know how he could possibly manage them on his own.

I went on hating the situation for several minutes, until my mind grew distracted with our playacting and I couldn't concentrate on anything but that. I'd never actually played with toys before; not since I was very young. They just hadn't interested me. But Near somehow made them fascinating. With three simple toys he created a whole plot, a different world, with its own little mysteries, rules, and secrets to be discovered.

I lost track of time. When my surroundings suddenly began to fade, I actually panicked. I'd lost myself in the memory, and for several horrifying seconds I was clueless, until everything clicked and I remembered, and I was back in the black place. Not Logical approached me.

"Better," he said. "Much better. You did well, but you need more practice still."

"How could I need more?" That memory had been torturous enough. Although, towards the end, I had begun to…to rather…

No! This was Near I was talking about. I hated him, and wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. Any more of this fell into the category of cruel and unusual punishment. Definitely very unusual.

"Oh yes, plenty more. I shall, of course, not force you to go through all your memories, as that would be too tiring for me to simulate. But I have a few more picked out for you."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

…

The next memory took me back further than the first. I was standing in the Wammy's House front entry way, watching as Watari, Quillish Wammy the House's founder, arrived, holding the hand of a young pale boy in ragged clothes. Near. A very young Near. Five years old to be exact, which meant I would be seven and a half. No wonder the world suddenly seemed strangely tall.

It was Near's first day at the House.

Roger took Near into his care, and Watari was gone. He led the boy into the common room and introduced him to the children there, but Near wasn't interested in greeting anyone. He became distracted with one of the puzzles, and quickly began to solve it, keeping the pieces upside down, blank side up, as he did so. I remember how watching him do that was what sparked my first twinge of envy, that first feeling of hatred. I also remember that I'd went over and quietly stolen one of the puzzle's pieces, so he could never complete it.

Kindness, I had to remember to be kind. Painfully, oh so painfully kind. I whispered a quick "I hate you", hoping Not Logical got the message, shoved my hands in my pockets, and walked over to where Near sat, curled up by himself.

"Hello," I said. No reaction. Not surprising though. "Welcome to the House. I'm Mello."

Still nothing. The young Near had been even ruder than the older one. If he was just going to ignore me, what was I supposed to do? I suddenly began to wonder how Not Logical was deciding new reactions for Near to have in my memories. But no, I couldn't be distracted. I sat down opposite him, hoping to force myself into his field of vision, but he still didn't give me the slightest glance.

I had to concentrate. Kindness…what else could I do that was kind to him? How did I want to be treated my first day here? Well I certainly couldn't remember that; I'd been too young. But that wouldn't work anyway. Near and I had different personalities, and I knew so little of his. What would _he _want? What would he be feeling right now?

I never thought I would actually have to think about my rival's feelings. He was only five years old, and alone, so I imagined he would be scared. Any normal child would be, but Near wasn't exactly normal. Still, I could only act on the assumption that at this age, Near would react to such a traumatic event as this with fear. His silence was a show of insecurity, and he became absorbed in this puzzle so completely probably because it was something familiar, and therefore reassuring.

I reached to touch his shoulder lightly, and he froze immediately. "Hey, it's okay. You'll do really well here, trust me." I tried to keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice. "There are some really nice kids here. You don't need to be scared." There were some really mean kids too, but I didn't think it would be kind to tell him that. He looked up at me finally, his eyes wide and surprisingly teary, even more baby-faced than he was at ten. I patted his shoulder a bit before withdrawing contact, and forced myself to smile. Smiling right then was like shattering a crack into glass.

Near stood up, wobbling unsteadily on his feet, unusual for a child his age. He walked over to my side, one hand tangled in his hair and his other pressed against his mouth as he sucked his thumb. Why was he getting close to me? I hadn't invited him over!

"Uh, wait…" I shook my head quickly, but it was too late. He crawled onto my lap, curling up against me. Oh no, if I shoved him away now, it would definitely be counted as unkind. My eyes flickered about uncertainly. Was anyone else paying attention to this? Not that it mattered, as this wasn't reality, but it was a very realistic not-reality. I could even feel his heartbeat as he pressed against me, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he drew breath. They were each very soft feelings, baby-sized ones. It wouldn't matter, so why not…?

I put my arms around him. He was very soft and warm; he _felt _like a baby. His skin was so pale I could easily see the blue tint of veins, and his hair was actually soft. Fine, silky, baby-hair. Everything about him was infantile, even his scent. Which I should not have been paying attention to, but was. I hated to admit it, but this was rather nice. Rather calming.

I remained that way for several minutes before my surroundings began to fade again. There was no in-between meeting with Not Logical this time, I simply dropped right into the next one memory. How many of these did I have to go through?

I was standing in the corridor outside the lavatories this time, and I could hear voices from within. This was such a brief memory, I was surprised anything was being made of it. I had stopped to use the lavatories on my way up to my room, and had seen Near in there surrounded by several other boys. He hadn't looked happy, and they hadn't looked like they meant him well, but I'd ignored it. Near had shown up bruised at dinner and had been whisked away to the nurse's office, so I knew what had happened here after I left. So I had to protect him?

I walked into the lavatories, and sure enough, there he was. Pressed back between two of the sinks, five boys around him. They were older boys too, older than me. Thirteen and fourteen year olds. How was I supposed to protect him from them? I was a fighter, but size had to be taken into consideration here. I had to try though. It was just a memory anyway, I couldn't really get hurt. Right?

"Hey," I put on my best tough-guy face, my thumbs hooked loosely in my pockets, calm and relaxed, but a firm voice. All five of the boys looked at me at once; Near kept his eyes on the floor. "Leave him alone."

The biggest one of them laughed. "Or what? You going to fight us, little boy?"

My fists clenched, my adrenaline already rushing like crazy. One of the most exciting feelings in the world. But I had to think logically about this. I knew I couldn't beat them. "I'm not looking to fight anyone. Just leave him alone. He didn't do anything to you."

"Not looking for one?" the big guy swaggered up to me. "Well you sure found one kid."

It was going to come to it anyway; I had to throw the first punch, and I did. A really good solid one, right in the nose. It was too late that I realized, horrified, just how small my fists were. How long ago had this occurred? Two years, three…I'd been barely ten when this happened! Damn it!

Still, I wasn't about to roll over and play dead for them. I was going down, but they were going to get hurt too. I wasn't squeamish about using everything I had in a fight; biting, scratching, fighting dirty. I didn't care. It still vexed me just how quick they got me pinned. My last victory was that I managed to spit in the big guy's face, but that was all I got.

For not being real, it sure felt like it. I felt every punch all the way through me. They took my breath away, ached, stung, throbbed. Every feeling of being thoroughly beaten to a pulp was there. When they'd finished with me, they made Near pay as well. So this was what Not Logical wanted? For me to get beaten up for nothing?

I stayed where I was on the floor even after they'd left, pinching my nose shut to stop the flow of blood. Why wasn't the memory over? What else could I possibly have to go through? Near was slowly beginning to get up, swaying as he did, dazed. I closed my eyes, hoping the pain didn't last long.

"Mello." I opened my eyes again. Near stood over me, his hand extended to help me up. I should have hated him for this, for getting me hurt. Yet the hatred wouldn't come. I reached up to take his hand…

And everything faded again.

…

Once more, Not Logical didn't meet me. However my pain faded and disappeared, which I was thankful for. By the time I found myself in the next memory, I felt perfectly fine.

Or…was it a memory? I was back in 259. I was lying in bed, and the air was close, choking, and the room was dark, lit only by candles. Ah, the candles. It was a memory then. Or was it? I suppose that depended on when this whole thing had started. I had been suspecting it was at 7:25, at which point my watch had stopped. When I looked at my watch now, I saw that it was the middle of the night. Then this memory was…

There it was. The pressure at my back. Near. This was taking things too far. I scrambled from the bed, onto the floor. "No!" I yelled. Where was that wretched spirit? "I'm not doing this! Haven't you asked enough of me?" The room began to fade, and I found myself in the black place again, with Not Logical sitting cross-legged, his back to me. "I'm not doing this!"

He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Why? You've done quite well. Why stop here?"

"That has nothing to do with being kind to him! That's just about common human behavior. It's too intimate!"

"Oh? Perhaps you just have a perverted mind."

"I don't. Maybe _you _do."

He chuckled. "Now, now, Mello. Is this really the time for petty arguments? Here you are, almost finished, so close to being released. It isn't that hard. I'm only asking you to be kind, not intimate."

"No. I won't do it," I shook my head firmly, standing my ground. "I won't."

"A shame. You shall simply have to remain in that memory forever then."

I was back in 259 quicker than I could get in another word of protest. Back in bed, with Near clinging to me. No, no, no! Why this? It was fine when he was younger, but he was too old for this now. Some other part of my mind, one that I disliked, reminded me that ten wasn't very old. I wouldn't give in. I wasn't going to do this. What exactly I was resisting doing, I wasn't sure. However, I was done giving in to Not Logical, doing whatever he wanted. I could just stay here then!

It seemed to me I lay there for hours. Stiff, tense, and furious, with Near refusing to let go. It didn't take me long to realize I couldn't make myself get out of the bed, or even sit up. I hated this! Then there was that other part of my mind, saying it wasn't really so bad, that it was actually rather nice, because I'd never actually allowed anyone to get this close to me before. It kept saying that just having another body close was pleasant, that it was comforting and relaxing, and there would be nothing wrong with letting Near feel that comfort too.

I groaned aloud. "Fine," my voice shook with frustration. I just wanted to get out of it, I wanted it over. I turned over onto my other side, facing Near, to find him fast asleep and looking not so very different from the much younger Near I'd held earlier. He didn't feel very different either, when I put my arm around him lightly. It wasn't so bad.

I wanted to hate it. I wanted to hate him, what I was being forced to do, everything. But somehow I couldn't do it. That gripping hatred, the kind that clawed at my stomach and made my hands shake, made my whole being wish for Near's downfall, even for his death, simply wouldn't come. And when I thought of it, when I thought of how not very long ago I actually felt as if I could kill him without caring, that not very long ago I _could _have done that, it actually made me feel a bit ill. Why? I didn't care about him, I didn't care about him at all! He was an enemy, a rival. He was a selfish, rude, vile, stuck-up…

I pressed my face into his hair, liking to feel that baby-softness again. Just for now. Just for now I wouldn't hate him. I could hate him later, when this was over, when everything was back to reality. I had to keep hating him. If I didn't, what would drive me? What was the purpose to my life? I had to…just not right now.

…

The next thing I knew, I was waking up.

I was laying against the wood floor, and something was pounding close by. What was that? Someone's voice was calling. Matt?

I sat up slowly, drowsy. We were still in 259. The rope was gone from my neck, back in its place, and beneath it stood Matt, pounding on the door, looking ready to lose his mind. Near sat close by him, and from outside, in the hall, I could hear Roger's voice. They'd found us.

The key had remained in the lock when the door was shut. It took hardly a few seconds for us to be out, and Matt actually threw his arms around Roger as the door was thrown open. Matt, alive and well. I glanced at my watch. 9:16 am.

Then I'd been asleep? And A's spirit, Not Logical…a dream? Near walked past me as he exited the room, curling his hair around his finger, and my eyes stayed on him. It had seemed so real, everything about it. If I embraced him now, would it feel the same?

"I can only suppose this was your idea," said Roger, coming up behind me, his voice stern. I turned to him, and, surprisingly, said the unthinkable.

"It was. I'm sorry Roger."

The old man's eyebrows went up. He was speechless, opening his mouth then closing it again, unable to make a sound. Well there went my reputation. At least it was only him and a few of the teachers there. Matt and Near were there of course…but that didn't bother me. The man coughed, clearing his throat, and said, "I hope the three of you know there will be consequences for this. All of you knew this room was off limits, and to have the nerve to actually _steal _from my office." He looked back to me. "I would assume that little act is to be credited to you as well?"

I just nodded. After all that had just happened, suddenly everything was normal again? Or was this a dream too? Was Not Logical still messing with my head? No, it really had been a dream. Things like spirits didn't exist. Traveling through memories, ha! What nonsense. Just a dream. A very real dream, but a dream nonetheless.

"We'll get to eat first though, won't we?" said Matt. "I'm _starving_."

…

We were given our meals, but we ate them in our rooms, where we would probably remain for the rest of the day. We'd had any valuables confiscated; that is, things that were valuable to us on a personal level. Like my chocolate, and several of Near's toys (confiscating all of his would have been a day-long project). Poor Matt had his GameBoy taken, and I wondered if he would cry, though he didn't. He gave me a very miserable glare though, and I knew he had a very hard day ahead of him without his video games. It wasn't any easier for me though. I lay on my bed after I'd eaten, longing for something sweet, my mind flickering restlessly from thought to thought. How much of it had been real? Near suddenly seemed different to me. How could I describe it? He seemed like a person, a human. More like me. Less the title…and more the boy.

But if it had only been a dream, why would it effect me like this? Dreams could affect a person's perceptions in reality too, couldn't they? Of course they could. It was the only explanation. The idea that anything supernatural had occurred was ridiculous. My mind had simply made it all up. All of it.

However, if that was true…

I would have to check. I had to be sure.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a long day. I stayed in my room until dinner, at which point Roger came up to get me. I, Matt, and Near had to return to his office with him, where we sat and listened to a lecture he'd surely been planning out the entire day. It seemed to be aimed mostly at me.

"Your curiosity was understandable," he said, in what I hoped was a conclusion. "However that does not excuse such behavior. A's tragic fate was one of great shame to Mr. Wammy, and he no doubt feels the guilt of it to this day. He did not want knowledge of that, his very greatest mistake, to be spread. Though he honored A's last wishes in not having the room destroyed, it secrets must remain just that: secrets. I'm sure you understand me?"

All three of us replied in the affirmative. Matt was fidgeting in his seat, rubbing his hands restlessly. Video game withdrawal, surely. Near, as usual, seemed unaffected by it all, and I was just eager to move on. There was something I had to try, a test. I had to know for sure.

We were dismissed, but before I left, I suddenly thought of something. "Roger," I said, turning back to his desk, "Do you have a picture of A?"

He thought a moment. "Not anymore. I saw one of him once however, when I first began working here. He had the widest eyes I'd ever seen. Brown hair, and if I recall correctly, very pale skin. Quite a thin boy."

I nodded, turning to leave the office. It wasn't a _very _unusual description, was it? Surely something my mind could have come up with on its own. Perhaps while going through his medical records I had glimpsed something that mentioned weight or hair color.

The dining hall was already full when I entered. Matt and Near had gotten seats beside each other on the very end of a row, and next to them was the only available place for me as well. That was fine. In this case, it worked out perfectly.

I sat down quickly, right next to Near, and shook his shoulder to get his attention. "Near, what is it you're pretending when you play with your toys?"

"Many things," he said, his finger beginning to curl his hair as he thought. "I prefer political-mystery storylines the best, but those take a bit longer to think up than others."

Hm. Political-mystery storylines indeed. Coincidence, surely. I turned to my food, beginning to eat slowly. I didn't know Near's personality, therefore it wouldn't make sense for me to think up accurate reactions in my memories. What would prove it had all been false, all a dream?

There's was one last test I had to try, however it couldn't be done here. It would have to wait until I could get Near alone. I may have changed from who I was yesterday, but I wasn't going to let everyone else know that.

So I waited and fussed until dinner was over, then paced through the halls and up to my room, anxious and thinking hard, waiting until lights out was called and I could sneak about safely. When 9:30 at last came, I turned my lights out, waited several minutes, then left and crept down the hall, heading toward Near's room. I opened his door as carefully and quietly as I could, entering without knocking, to find him in bed and apparently asleep. He'd left his curtains open, so the moonlight lit the room, which was fortunate. Otherwise, I probably would have gotten hurt on the numerous toys scattered all over his floor. It was a good thing he was asleep too. Luck was on my side tonight.

I went over to his bedside, hesitated briefly, then reached out, touching his hair lightly. Gaining a little bravery, I stroked it, and found it to be baby-soft. Just like it had been in my…dream. A dream…surely…

It was not the very oddest thing I'd ever done, but it was close. I knelt down, leaning close, just close enough to get a scent. It was soft, but it was there. A familiar scent, something I'd smelled before.

I rested my head on the bed. What now? The only conclusion I could come to was one that wasn't logical. But how could I have known these things if I hadn't already experienced them? Could a dream be that strangely accurate?

"Mello."

I tensed up all over, drawing in my breath sharply.

"Is Mello alright?"

I didn't know. Was I alright? Was I crazy? Had the stress of life finally gotten to me and I'd lost it? But all this anxiety now was only due to my own refusal to accept what seemed to be truth. Beneath that, there was nothing more. Where was the hatred? There was a void within me without it. What was to drive me? I still wanted to be the next L, I still wanted to be better, yet somehow I didn't feel afraid. I no longer felt that desperate envy.

I raised my head, meeting Near's gaze. He'd turned over on to his other side to watch me, his eyes half-lidded with sleepiness.

"I'm fine I suppose," I said. "It's been a long day."

He put his hand on mine, a strange action for him to take. But it was child-like, innocent. Harmless.

"Mello may stay in here. Perhaps you will sleep better."

I huffed, getting to my feet. "By what logic can you assume I'd sleep better in here than in my own bed?"

"Sometimes things are not logical. However, it doesn't mean they aren't true."

I glanced at him sharply. Did he mean something by that? Did he know something? Or was he simply talking? I went back to the bed, folding my arms upon it and laying my head on them. Near went on, "Mello has been thinking about 259 all day, yes?"

"Yeah. So?"

"We saw all the room could show us Mello. All that A wanted us to see. That room was his will and testament, an inheritance he left behind to those who were willing to claim it. We went to claim what was ours. However, we each received something different, yes? What did Mello receive?"

My eyes widened. An inheritance given to me by A. I had received…

"Understanding," I said softly.

Near nodded. "Ah. It is very valuable." Calm. As if this was logical. As if we were speaking of a porcelain vase, or something of the sort. Yet somehow it made sense.

"And you?" I said. "What did he give you?"

Near didn't answer for several moments, and he no longer held my gaze. "I'm not sure yet. It was not a gift he gave me directly. But it was…the feeling of what friendship can be like."

"What was it like then?"

He leaned closer to me a moment, took hold of my sleeve and held it to his nose. "It _smells _rather like someone who hasn't used soap for several days," he said. "And like chocolate."

I grinned before I could stop myself. "I suppose that's rather valuable too."

…

A and I were more alike than I would have cared to think back then; I realize that now. Especially in my later years, as I developed a liking for writing and took to scrawling down my thoughts on anything I could – though I avoided writing in any odd places, like a bathtub. What exactly happened in 259 I continued to wonder about for years, but certainly not worry over. To this day I have the occasional doubt, but that little adventure is a matter of the past. I've moved on.

Perhaps if A had the power to turn back time, things would have been different between Near and I. However, A had only the power to give gifts for the future, not for the past. He was like me in that as well. Look forward, not backward. I'm not sure how greatly what he gave me affected my youth, for in some ways we were indeed different. As he'd said, he always knew his own mind. He may have seen his suicide coming far before it happened, but had been unable to stop it. That wasn't me. I can rarely see around the next corner, no matter how much I look ahead. My distance sight is about as good as a bat's in most cases. Therefore, I cannot say for certain that something terrible would have happened had A not done what he did. I cannot say for sure that I would have killed Near, or even myself.

At any rate, I did neither of those things.

Still, the past could not be changed. Near and I were distant, even though we had gained some understanding of each other. We couldn't achieve friendship, but what we did achieve was something more than tolerance. More than 1st and 2nd. More than a title.

I'll leave it at that. My hand is beginning to cramp, my chocolate is gone, and it's time to stop dwelling in my past.

_These words are my memories._

_This room can burn._

_Far from being the only works of my life, and probably some of the most insignificant things I've created._

_I'll shoot you if you don't let them stand._

Mello

…

_That, my dear reader, is the end. Mello developing a liking for writing was something else inspired by Another Note, considering that it was supposed to be he who wrote it._

_Thank you very much for reading!_


End file.
